Wednesday, June 6, 2012

War of the Weeds

The weeds were apparent when the snow melted.

One of
the reasons we bought this house (or more accurately, started renting it from
the bank) was because we were told the previous owner had been a master
gardener. It was hard to envision what the back yard looked like because over
four feet of snow covered everything. However, by the end of April we were
delighted to see the yard was, indeed, a skillfully laid out series of beds
with pea gravel walkways.

The
delight was tempered considerably when the snow completely disappeared and the years
of neglect became apparent. Horsetails and dandelions were running rampant!

While I’m ambivalent toward
horsetails, and dandelions only annoy me slightly, Mrs. Poynor hates them both
with the white-hot, burning passion of a thousand suns. There is no invective
vile enough in her vocabulary to adequately describe either of them. The
neighbors call in their children when Mrs. Poynor is seen prowling about,
waving her weeding trowel in search of the offensive plants. Peals of maniacal
laughter echo through the neighborhood as one after another long-rooted
dandelion is snatched from the earth.

A field of nightmares

At
issue is not Mrs. Poynor’s tenacity in her weed control efforts – if nothing
else, she is determined – the issue is numbers. We have worse odds than the
defenders of the Alamo. After entire days spent in plucking, pulling, pinching
and probing, it became apparent there wasn’t enough time in one summer to physically
eradicate the pernicious plants. Enter chemical warfare.

Neither
of us has ever been in favor of chemical solutions to weed problems. (My objection
is environmental in nature. Mrs. Poynor’s objection is emotional: she loves
personally choking and wrenching each of the offending weeds.) However, faced
with daunting odds we succumbed to the quick-fix temptation, and judicious
application of a nationally known herbicide was made by carefully following the
manufacturer’s directions.

Far out man... we scoff at your chemicals!

The
effect produced was akin to a mildly bad acid trip for the dandelions. They
wobbled about for a few days, then produced a profusion of blossoms. The
horsetails merely laughed. (It did manage to kill some nearby raspberry plants,
however.)

Enter
scorched earth weed warfare. Armed with a 5-gallon tank of propane and a
gazillion-BTU torch, I have been reducing the haughty herbs to ashes. Progress
is being made, albeit slowly.

Gazillion-BTU torch in action. Burn until rocks pop.

There
has also been some minor collateral damage. The bottom limb of an ornamental shrub
needs to be trimmed, now. And certainly that one iris will recover – the roots
didn’t burn, I’m sure. Paint will easily cover the scorched spot on the deck (good
thing the water hose was handy). On the other hand, I’m not sure my hearing
will recover from Mrs. Poynor’s loud screeches of, “Burn baby, BURN!”